Gotta Catch 'Em All
by patches7
Summary: On his own, he was just Harry. But his scar, his shard, it made him more. A young Harry seeks out the other pieces of Voldemort.
1. The Scar

**Warning: Harry is a bit dark. Death in this chapter.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: The Scar<strong>

Harry Potter didn't have a baby blanket or even a teddy bear to hold at night. He didn't have an imaginary friend or a puppy either.

No, what Harry had was so much _better_.

Huddled in the cupboard under the stairs, five-year-old Harry lay on his cot with his hand curled against his forehead. A livid scar in the shape of a lightning bolt was concealed beneath the small hand.

A sharp rap on the door immediately woke Harry up.

"Up! Get up! It's time for you to set the table!" Aunt Petunia's surly tone called.

Harry sat up and hung his legs off the cot. He smiled slightly and gave his scar one last caress before reaching for the door knob and pushing the door open.

Harry walked the few steps to the kitchen and knelt on the floor. The dishes were held in the lower cupboards especially so he could reach them.

Aunt Petunia didn't even glance at him and instead glared at the sizzling bacon, as if that would make it cook faster.

Setting the table was his job. It's not like it was difficult and Harry didn't mind doing it. But, it was just one more thing that Dudley could hold over him.

Speaking of Dudley…. Harry felt a push, and he fell forward on top of the stack of glass plates he was holding. Harry landed with a yell.

Harry lay there on the floor for several moments with sharp pain in his arms and tears spilling from his eyes.

"Harry dropped the pla-ates," Dudley sing-songed.

"My good china! Ruined!" Aunt Petunia screeched, her beady eyes narrowed and her lip curled into a snarl.

Harry carefully pushed himself upright. The shards of glass dug into his hands. Droplets of blood seeped out the gouged areas, and he examined the fragments curiously.

Looking at the shards of glass lying across the floor, Harry was reminded of his own shard. It was like having one piece of a jigsaw puzzle. While Harry felt overjoyed to be the caretaker of one piece of the set, he wanted to collect all of them.

Aunt Petunia growled in annoyance as she grabbed ahold of Harry's shoulder. "You better be glad your ruckus didn't wake up Vernon. Come along. You need to get cleaned up before he's up."

Harry rolled his eyes. Typical. His walrus of an uncle could sleep through a storm.

Harry let himself be pulled upstairs after his aunt.

Aunt Petunia continued grumbling to herself. "Good for nothing freak! Just like his good for nothing parents!"

He entered the bathroom and immediately set his face in front of the mirror. Harry pushed up his bangs and traced his scar with a bloodied finger. He felt a slight shock and he frowned, flicking the scar and checking it over one last time.

Good. They were okay.

Aunt Petunia cleared her throat. "I don't know how many times I'm going to have to tell you! Stop touching that thing."

Harry glared at her. She turned away to grab tweezers and cotton swabs from the medicine cabinet. Harry stripped down to his pants and threw the ruined clothes in the laundry basket.

Harry sat up on the counter. Aunt Petunia went to work plucking at the glass shards. The shards made a plink-plink sound as they were dropped into a dish at his side.

Harry shuffled his feet and kicked against the cabinet as she cleaned the cuts.

"Don't push it," Aunt Petunia scowled. "You've already ruined my morning."

He sat still. She gave him a long look and turned back towards the medicine cabinet.

"Vernon will throw a fit if he sees this," she muttered.

She dabbed concealer onto his hands. Aunt Petunia looked him in they eye.

"Put on a long-sleeve shirt, too," she ordered.

Harry nodded. Aunt Petunia hesitated for a moment and reached for his forehead.

Harry leaned backwards.

"No," he said quietly.

She shot him an annoyed look. "I just want to cover that wretched thing."

Aunt Petunia reached forward to put concealer on his scar.

Alarms went off in his head.

NONONONONO

She couldn't cover it. That would be wrong. So, so wrong.

Harry didn't care if his aunt and uncle resented is very existence. He didn't care if Dudley tried to humiliate him. He didn't care if he got hurt.

But his scar? No. His scar was his treasure. His possession. It belonged to him. Harry would not allow Aunt Petunia to cover it up, as if it was something to be ashamed of.

Harry was fed up. His own family would never give his shard the respect that it was owed.

Harry demanded it.

"GET OUT!" Harry screamed. Aunt Petunia's eyes widened as she was thrust outside the bathroom.

Harry spun around towards the mirror.

He didn't see as his aunt smashed through the safety rail and plummeted to the first floor of the house. Harry ignored the sounds of wood splintering as she broke through the frame and hit the floor with a sharp crack.

Harry focused his scar, sitting up on the counter so he could lean closer. Emerald eyes stared into the mirror at his scar.

He had a sort of awed expression on his face, his lips parted and his eyes big. "I protected us." It sounded almost like a question.

Harry knew he was weak. He was just a scrawny little boy with knobbly knees. What he would do to be bigger, to be able to protect his shard.

But now…. This changed everything.

Harry scrambled off the countertop and continued facing the mirror. "I protected us," he said more firmly. "I can protect us."

Harry fingered his scar thoughtfully and smiled. "I can find them- _all_ of them."

The thought of anything else made his stomach churn.

Harry ran down the stairs, stumbling slightly. He couldn't contain his glee and he grinned widely.

He barely spared a glance for the pale, broken figure that was his aunt. Dudley knelt beside her body. His cheeks were ruddy, and tears and snot streamed down his face. "Wake up, Mum! Wake up!" Dudley wailed.

Harry quickly put on a change of clothes and stuffed the rest into his backpack.

Harry did not look around before he left. He didn't even say goodbye. Harry held no fond memories of the house and he wouldn't miss anyone.

Harry yanked open the front door and barely avoided hitting his head. "Sorry," he mumbled.

Harry glanced around the neighborhood as he walked. Mrs. Figg, a grizzled old woman who watched him sometimes, was walking her numerous cats across the street. She waved at him and frowned.

"It's not safe for you out here! Let me get you back inside!" she called.

Harry walked faster. "Don't worry Mrs. Figg. I'll be right back!"

Not.

She smiled and tugged on the leashes. "That's alright then. I'll just drop by later and check on you."

Harry shook his head. As if she wanted to do anything other than keep them imprisoned with the Dursleys.

Harry walked past the perfectly kept lawns. Aunt Petunia's friend, Yvonne, from Number 16 walked across her yard to grab her newspaper. She wore a floral yellow dressing gown and had pink rollers in her blonde hair.

"You're the nasty trouble maker, aren't you?" she asked snidely.

"You're the ugliest woman I've ever seen!" Harry retorted.

It wasn't the greatest comeback, but Harry frankly didn't care. They were leaving.

"Why I never!" she gasped, utterly scandalized.

Harry reached the end of the block. He looked back at the perfectly manicured lawns and uniform houses. But mostly, he thought about the pitiful, spiteful people within. In particular, he thought about his Uncle Vernon who was still fast asleep in his bed.

Harry gave the neighborhood the two-finger salute and continued walking.

It was the start of a new day, a new life for he and his shard.

Harry traced his scar with the tip of his finger. "Well, this is it," he murmured.

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><p>It wasn't until Harry was racing away in a train that the news outlets worldwide broadcasted the news of a fire. Mysteriously, an entire block with dozens of homes was turned to ashes. Nothing remained but black ash, swirling in the wind.<p>

Some speculated that the fire was caused by a gas explosion that got out of control. Others feared that there were terrorists in Britain. Fewer claimed that aliens begrudged the humans their immaculate settlement.

In the magical world, no one noticed the absence of a muggle community. That is, except Albus Dumbledore.

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><p><strong>I've read lots of fanfiction but I'm not used to writing it. I would appreciate any thoughtsfeedback!**


	2. The Train

**Warning: Harry is a bit dark. More death.**

_A/N: Chapter 1 has been edited._

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><p><strong>Chapter 2: The Train<strong>

Harry wandered away from Privet Drive. He knew they needed to travel far and wide to find his shard's brothers.

He walked through the shopping district nearby. It was strange to be out on his own. Of course, he wasn't quite so alone. But this time, he was not trailing behind his aunt.

Harry went to the supermarket frequently with his aunt- at least five times a week. He was often charged with pushing an extra cart to accommodate all of her groceries. Apparently, her Dudders was a "growing boy" and her poor Vernon was practically worked to death at Grunnings. He needed to "keep his strength up."

Harry peered into the windows of several shops. He admired the toys and chocolates, especially.

Inside the chocolate shop, a woman beamed at him and beckoned him inside. She raised up a delicious looking morsel and waved him in again. Harry waved shyly and continued on. Perhaps he could come back one day to get gifts for his shards. It would be a nice way to welcome them home.

As Harry walked, he asked people directions to the local train station. Without fail, they looked at him funny and said some variation of, "Where's your mum and dad, young man?"

Immediately after that, though, they seemed to forget their concerns and directed him one way or another.

Harry was nearing the station and he could feel himself bubbling with excitement.

Before he could continue, though, Harry heard someone shout his name.

An enthusiastic man waved wildly in his direction from across the street. Harry looked around himself carefully. No one else was paying the man any mind.

The man rushed across and nearly got run over by a speeding car. The car swerved and honked at the strange man.

Despite his near brush with death, the man was undeterred. He skidded to a stop before Harry.

Harry scrutinized him carefully. The man wore a rather odd outfit that would be better suited for a costume contest or as his uncle would call it, "a convention for freaks." He wore a purple top hat and a long, buttoned waistcoat.

The weather was rather hot this summer, so he looked especially peculiar.

"Mr. Potter! As I live and breathe!"

"Ermm. Yes." Harry said cautiously.

"Mr. Dedalus Diggle," he introduced himself and stuck out his hand. "I'm a society man myself-quite well known in these parts, you know..."

The man shook his hand and continued to shake it for nearly half a minute. Perhaps Mr. Diggle was one of those Uncle Dursley referred to as "hooligans and drunks."

Harry finally yanked his hand back and brushed it against his forehead.

Mr. Diggle's eyes widened. "Not as well known as you, of course, Mr. Potter. Your scar! It's legendary!"

Harry perked up. Perhaps this wasn't such a bad chap after all.

Harry was excited. "Can you tell me what happened to him? Where is he?"

Mr. Diggle frowned for a moment, but his smile quickly returned."He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Well, you offed him, of course!"

Harry's blood boiled.

"How dare you accuse me of killing him! He's all I have! He's alive. And I will find him." Harry's tone was menacing.

And despite Harry's short stature, he struck fear into the other man. His face was pale and he stepped backwards, shaken.

"No! It can't be. You're just a little boy! You don't know what you're talking about. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is dead and his servants are rotting in Azkaban!"

Harry would have questioned Mr. Diggle further, but unfortunately, the man walked backwards into oncoming traffic.

Harry was momentarily transfixed. Mr. Diggle's hat lay crushed and soiled a meter away from him. His body was sprawled out on the stone, and his blood was quickly seeping across the paved cracks. His harsh, shuddering breaths were rapidly decreasing in frequency.

Mr. Diggle's head turned towards Harry as onlookers rushed onto the grisly scene. His blue eyes held a sort of fear that even the threat of Uncle Vernon's belt had never prompted in Harry.

It was as if he was pleading with Harry. "Please, let this all be a misunderstanding." "Please, say that you were joking-that you haven't renounced us." "Please, I don't want to die."

Harry watched him stoically, refusing to renounce his loyalty. Harry shook his head and walked the rest of the distance to the train station.

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><p>Harry was impressed by how accommodating people were towards them. Harry explained to one of the guards that he didn't have a ticket or a guardian to pay for one, but it was very important for him to get on a train.<p>

The guard had a slightly glazed look in his eyes as he walked Harry to one of the platforms.

The guard led Harry directly to an empty compartment of the train, and encouraged him to get snacks from the trolley-completely complimentary, of course.

He sat back and relaxed as the train churned beneath him.

Harry didn't have any particular destination in mind. He just needed a starting point-a place to find answers and begin looking for him. If he had to, Harry would search under every rock and behind every tree to find his shards. He wouldn't let anyone get in his way.

Harry leaned his head against the cool window and drifted off to sleep.

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><p><strong>Thank you for your patience and for all the reviews, favorites and follows!<strong>


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